The Dangers We Face
by lureplant
Summary: Surviving is hard, but it's a little easier when someone has your back. (Rated for violence/language)
1. Carniforus

Wilson had never liked camping. Wilson's father, may he rest in peace, had tried time and time again to drag his son out of the house and into the wilderness. The attempts always ended with tears, pouts, and sabotage. One particularly nasty trip had ended with well-crafted stink bombs littering the camp grounds, which had forced everyone to be evacuated. No authorities ever discovered who planted the bombs. After that incident, Wilson's father never tried to take him camping again, leaving Wilson to spend his free time however he pleased.

However, as the axe missed it's mark yet again, the young man wished that he had spent his youth with a few less books and a few more communes with nature.

The sun continued to dip lower in the sky, inching ever closer towards the horizon. Each second was precious in this unpredictable realm, and Wilson feared that he would run out of time. The past few nights had been hell to get through, as he was barely scraping by on meager scraps of both food and supplies. Though fistfuls of berries were far from proper meals for all this exertion, he knew that if he did not focus on firewood, he would die. Darkness in this land filled him with an intense sense of foreboding, and the scientist preferred to keep it as far away from his person as possible.

He raised his axe and swung again, driven by a very unscientific fear of the unknown.

His aim was true; the axe dug into the preexisting slice in the tree. With a grunt, Wilson kicked down the skinny sapling. He raised his axe and chopped it into more manageable bits.

Satisfied, Wilson began to collect the logs into a secure stack. He counted up his spoils. Ten logs, some pine cones, and a few generous fistfuls of grass clippings would surely see him through until the morning. He began his trek to the edge of the woods, grass in his pockets and logs in his arms.

The ground trembled beneath Wilson's feet.

Something let out a heavy groan. Wilson spun on his heels, logs forgotten as he reached for his axe.

Wilson looked upon the the treeline, and the treeline looked back at him.

A young pine had ripped itself out of the earth, large leafy arms swinging for momentum. Three gaping holes marred it's foliage, fashioned into hateful eyes and a scowling mouth. It looked down at small, bewildered Wilson, and roared.

Wilson dropped his axe and bolted.

As he sprinted away from the beast, Wilson frantically searched his brain for solutions. He was distantly aware of the setting sun, though his more pressing concern was the angry plant on his heels.

He swerved left and squeezed himself through a dense clump of trees, hoping that the monster would find it's passage hindered. Wilson dared a glance over his shoulder to see if he was correct.

The tree was struggling between the closely packed trunks; he seemed afraid of damaging his brethren. A sigh of relief passed Wilson's lips. He had won.

Unfortunately, his foot chose that exact moment to dig into a rabbit hole. He stumbled, flipped, and skidded his way across the mulchy ground before sliding to a stop.

He was certainly glad no one had seen that.

He spat, pine needles and forest mush fleeing his mouth in a rather undignified manner. His chest heaved, and Wilson was again reminded how unprepared he was for braving the elements. He was a scientist, damn it, not a survivalist.

He was, however, extremely proud to have outwitted that tree.

The sun chose that moment to vanish.

"Oh no."

He tugged at his pockets, searching desperately for the proper equipment for a fire. He found only a single skinny log and a sprinkling of grass clippings.

They would have to do.

His little flame struggled to live, wavering in and out of existence at worrying intervals. He fed it dried pine needles, though the effect was negligible at best. His only option was to travel back to where he dropped his logs.

Which meant possibly facing the tree demon again.

"Perhaps it's given up by now," he murmured, cupping his hand protectively around the dying flame. With a deep breath, Wilson stood and walked back through the protective thicket of trees.

He poked his head out from between the trees, listening for the faintest hint of unearthly groaning. When none passed his ears, he cautiously stepped forward, primed to run at a moment's notice. His light wavered again and he felt darkness close around his throat for the briefest moment.

It was now or never.

He trekked along the path of littered pine as quickly as he dared; too much jostling would kill his flame, a fate he would much rather avoid. He had just passed the site of the tree's upheaval when two things happened at once:

First, a heavy groan, akin to the sound of a mighty oak toppling in a storm, closed in on him. Second, his torch's light flickered out of existence.

Wilson ducked, the tree's gargantuan hand just skimming the tips of his hair. He started to run when a sharp, biting pain erupted on his side. The scientist crumpled to the ground, screaming as the bites continued.

He closed his eyes and prepared for death. It had been foolish to think he could ever survive in this world. It had been foolish to listen to that cursed man on the cursed radio. Wilson P. Higgsbury was going to die a fool.

A bright light flooded the grove. Wilson felt the heat against his cheek and slowly opened his eyes.

The tree was on fire.

It howled, swatting at it's back but finding itself unable to reach the hungry flames that consumed it's leafy flesh. In it's haste it slammed into it's fellow trees, igniting them in the process. The forest was gradually burning to the ground.

Wilson was dumbstruck.

"Move!" a voice commanded. He felt a hand tug at his shoulder.

When his legs failed to respond, the figure huffed audibly and grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the dying forest. Wilson trailed behind, fingers laying limp in the stranger's death-grip. A tiny light guided them through the trees.

The pair collapsed once a generous mile lay between themselves and the tree monster's fiery grave. While Wilson held his legs and contemplated how wonderful it felt to be alive, his companion began stacking logs.

A large fire ignited inches from Wilson's face. He stumbled back, concerned for the safety of his eyebrows. He ran a quick hand across his face and, luckily, found them both unharmed.

The light gave him the opportunity to finally observe his fellow survivor.

She was a young woman; Wilson estimated she was no more than twenty-five. Thin, stringy bangs clung to her forehead, and twin pony tails bobbed across her bony shoulders. She was the very definition of lithe, every aspect of her frame stretched thin to nearly an unhealthy extent. His observations travelled down her arms and stumbled upon her hands. She was playing with a tiny lighter. She followed his gaze, and her light eyes (much too large for her face, he noted) narrowed. She swiftly tucked the lighter within the folds of her skirt.

The action caused something to click in Wilson's ever-churning mind.

"Did..." he started. He winced at the tremor still present in his voice. He coughed and began again. "Did you light that fire?"

She looked at him, first with confusion, then with pity. She leaned towards him.

"Alright, follow my finger with your eyes."

Wilson sat in bewildered silence for a few moments before putting two and two together.

"No! I'm fine. My brain is fine. I didn't mean this fire!" He assured, gesturing at the flames warming his skin. "I meant the fire in the forest."

Though she still looked a little unsure about his mental well-being, she nodded.

"Oh," he offered lamely, unsure of what else to say.

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "I just saved your sorry butt, and all you have to say is, 'Oh?'"

Wilson shrugged. "Well, I mean, thank you, but-"

"But?"

Wilson bit his tongue. He had near instinctively said, 'I could have handled it,' but the woman's camp was his only source of light until dawn. Additionally, he knew that statement was false to an almost hilarious degree. The pulsing ache in his side and his failing strength proved as much.

"That's it. Thank you."

She watched him for a few more moments before she returned her gaze to the crackling fire. "Alright. You're welcome, little guy."

"Excuse me?"

She smirked. "You're welcome? It's an expression used to acknowledge thanks. Are you sure you're okay?"

He leaped up. Even though this woman had saved his life, his ego was easily bruised, and he wouldn't back down from insults with his tail between his legs.

"I am not concussed! I was referring to your other comment! The one concerning my height." He fumed. While he had never been short enough to warrant joining a circus, his diminutive stature was always brought up when among his peers. Five foot six wasn't generously tall, but it was a respectable height in his earnest opinion.

Wilson realized the childishness of his outburst and tugged at his collar. "Erm...I apologize for that," he muttered. "But I still feel as though your comment was rather unnecessary."

The girl unfurled her legs and stood.

She was easily five inches taller than Wilson, her spindly limbs only accentuating her height. She placed her hands on her hips and grinned.

"What? 'Little guy?' I don't exactly know your name, and all things considered, I feel like 'Sir' is..." she paused, eyes lighting up with mirth. "A bit beneath me."

For the second time that evening Wilson found himself at a loss for words. Satisfied at her secured win, the girl folded her legs back beneath her skirt and settled down to watch the flames. It took a few minutes for Wilson to find the words he was looking for.

"At least I'm not a...a stick figure!"

She waved a hand at his weak response. Grumbling, Wilson trotted over to the opposite side of the campfire.

As a man who appreciated a good pun, Wilson had to admit that her retort had been golden.

The silence of the camp ground allowed Wilson to slip into his thoughts unhindered. His game plan was simple enough; wait until dawn, and then leave to collect his fallen supplies. He only hoped that the tree guardian had not survived the inferno.

If worst came to worst, he could perhaps find some flint to craft a new axe and start over. Though it would take a while, he was certain he could gather enough wood to survive the next night. He would, however, have to forgo food. The thought reminded him of the pain in his belly, and he sighed mournfully.

"Here."

Her voice startled Wilson out of his thoughts. He looked up at the girl that loomed over him, hands cupped around her offering.

Her fingers were closed around a fistful of what appeared to be orange and black petals. He held out a hand, which she dumped the contents into. He winced when he realized that he was now holding a pile of severed butterfly wings.

"I know it's gross, but trust me, they'll help."

Wilson shot her a look of uncertainty. "Do I make a poultice with these?"

She shook her head. "Nah, you eat them." Wilson, visibly paling, looked back at the pile of insect wings.

"It's not like they're gonna be flying around in your guts," she offered. "There's no more flying for those butterflies." Though her attempts at reassuring him fell flat, he was desperate to relieve the ache in both his empty stomach and bruised torso. Pinching his nose shut, he plucked up one butterfly wing and, without thinking too hard, placed it on his tongue.

He chewed, shuddered, and swallowed. The taste itself had been negligent, but the thought of eating an insect still gave him the willies. However, the effects of the wing were nearly immediate. He felt a tad stronger, and the clawing hunger in his stomach lessened slightly. He swiftly dumped the rest of the wings into his mouth.

Once his meager meal was demolished, Wilson groaned. "I can't believe I've resorted to eating bugs."

The girl beside him shot him a sympathetic look before reaching through her pockets. She pulled out a small chunk of meat, which she promptly stabbed onto a stick. She then offered the makeshift kebab to the hungry scientist.

"Here, this will help too."

He had no hesitation in accepting her offer this time. He had been living off of berries and carrots for days, and the very idea of meat was making his mouth flood. He thrust the stick into the fire.

"Where did you get this?"

"I trapped it earlier today. I was actually planning to have it for dinner, but then I heard a commotion in the woods, and, well..."

She had pulled out her lighter again, fiddling with the switch. "Dinner was kind of forgotten."

"Thank you again, truly. That was incredibly brave, what you did." She shrugged, though he saw her smile slightly at the compliment.

"It was no problem, really. Burning stuff is kind of my thing."

"Thank heavens for that."

They fell back into comfortable silence, side by side against the weakening flame. The girl picked up a log and tossed it in, grinning heartily when it began to spark and crackle.

"Forgive me if I'm being too invasive, but may I ask your name?"

"It's Willow," she replied. Wilson bit back a chuckle; it suited her far too well. Her willowy, slouchy frame could do no other name justice.

"What's yours?" Willow asked, her eyes never leaving the dancing embers.

Wilson tugged at his vest and puffed out his chest, reciting a mantra that he had practiced long and hard in front of a mirror. "Wilson Percival Higgsbury, at your service." He held out his hand. She did not reciprocate the handshake. Instead, she turned to him, her lips quirking upward.

"At my service, huh?"

His tongue stumbled again.

"I mean, I don't mean as a servant, or a slave. I am my own boss. It's just a greeting, no attachments involved."

She chuckled, a silvery sound that Wilson could only compare to a flute. He pulled the meat back from the flame, chewing it somberly as he contemplated his next move.

"Although, if you want to, perhaps we could travel together? There is safety in numbers, as you know."

Wilson was a solitary man at heart. That was why he had slipped away from society in the first place, holing himself away in a shack deep within the woods. He had never quite found joy in company and found social excursions to be, quite honestly, tiring. No one shared his passion for science, and trying to relate to others was a chore. 'Friendship' had too few benefits to be worth the effort, and Wilson had, quite frankly, given up. He had been happy to be alone in his little cabin, away from judgmental neighbors and unsolicited visitors.

However, the woman (Willow, he corrected himself) had saved his life. That fact alone was monumental, and combined with the unfamiliarity of his situation and his desperation to survive, he was willing to break out of his old, hermit-y habits. Not to mention, as awkward and uncouth as he tended to be, Wilson still bore a gentleman's heart, and a gentleman would never abandon a young woman to brave the elements alone. All things considered, he could afford to make this sacrifice.

Willow shook her head.

"What?" he asked shrilly. He looked down and cleared his throat, took a deep breath, composed himself. "Why not?"

She raised her palms apologetically. "No offense, but you kinda seem like a liability. You nearly got killed by a tree-"

"That tree was alive!"

"It was still a tree. A really slow tree, at that. And, as I was saying before you rudely interrupted, you're draining a lot of my resources."

He looked down at the stick he had been chewing on, rendering it completely void of even the smallest bit of gristle. He felt guilty, having eaten Willow's dinner without a second thought.

"But you offered?" he countered lamely. He was really striking out on the argument front tonight.

"Well I didn't really want to wake up next to a dead guy. I'd feel kind of responsible if you just keeled over at my camp."

He nodded sagely, shifting uncomfortably and wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn't have any further counter arguments, his ego shot to bits and his mind far too tired to think of his less than negligible traits. He wanted to tell her he was a genius, a scientist, but what proof did he have? The creation of the very door that had trapped him (and possibly her; how on earth did she get here?) here against his will? A stick with a sharp rock attached to it that he stupidly abandoned at the first hint of danger? Wilson had nothing to offer. "Right. You're right. My sincerest apologies."

She shrugged. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Hey, if we both manage to live maybe we'll run into each other again. We can throw a survivor party or something." He couldn't suppress his smile.

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, basking the field in a golden glow. He stretched, stiff limbs popping.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Willow. I'll be off, then."

"Take care of yourself, Wilson."

"You as well."

He stood and walked toward the forest, leaving Willow and her giant campfire behind.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this fanfic. I've got a lot planned for this story, and will try to keep a consistent update schedule. I'm pretty new in the Don't Starve fandom and really wanted to make a story that showcases both Willow and Wilson's strengths and weaknesses. I'm kind of a sucker for those two, to be honest. Anyway, thanks again for reading! Reviews are appreciated.**


	2. New Leash On Life

Willow sighed and kicked a small woven basket. "Stupid, dumb rabbits. Why can't you just be nice and get in the trap?" she grumbled, stooping down to scoop up the fallen trap. Something disturbed the grass behind her.

She turned quickly and locked eyes with a startled rabbit. It stared up at her, trembling slightly but otherwise completely stiff. She saw it's eyes dart to the hole behind her feet. Willow grinned maliciously.

"You aren't going anywhere," she chuckled. Her belly growled and she took a step towards the rabbit.

Willow raised her axe.

Her dinner screamed.

The rabbit was fast, but Willow was hungry and determined and just a little bit less than sane at the moment. She chased it around the field, being careful to keep her body angled between the creature and it's home at all times.

"Quit fighting," Willow gasped. Her knees wobbled from a deadly combination of overexertion, dehydration and hunger. Still, she pressed on.

The rabbit stopped, ears down, body trembling. It had nearly run into a rock. It turned to bolt to the side.

Willow brought down her axe and severed it's spine.

"You're mine!" she shouted, hoisting up her kill. She rubbed her weapon on the grass and began to trot away from the spilled blood. She didn't know what kinds of creatures would be attracted to it, but in her weakened state, she definitely didn't want to stick around to find out.

The meat roasted over a glorious flame. Willow kneeled impatiently beside it, gnawing on her knuckles while she waited for the juices to run clear. Despite her desperation, becoming ill would spell certain doom for her in a world as harsh as this, and undercooked wild game was far too risky.

Her gaze slipped to the fire as she waited. The flames danced beneath and around the sizzling meat, slipping up into the sky to escape as embers. She thought of waves.

Willow hated the ocean. It was salty, briny, wet and cold; in her honest opinion, these were all the absolute worst charactertics a thing could have. However, she couldn't help but compare the fluidity of her fire to that of waves crashing against a cliff face. She imagined an ocean of red and warmth instead of freezing blue, imagined walking along an ash-sand beach and letting the scorching waves lap over her toes. She wondered if the ember sprays would taste salty against her tongue.

A distant snarl interupted her thoughts. She jumped, her makeshift kebab falling into the coals. "Damn it!" she cursed, brushing off the meat and pushing it into her mouth. She chewed quickly, unable to savor it.

The something snarled again, and Willow could have sworn that it was a little closer.

"Show yourself!" she shouted. She picked up her axe and gripped it close to her body. She scanned the field slowly, ready to charge at even the hint of movement.

The responding bark came from her right.

Without thinking, Willow swung her axe towards her visitor. Flesh and bones crunched beneath the blunted weapon. The something yelped in pain and struggled at the end of her blade.

It was a hound, roughly the size and shape of a stocky bulldog. It's mangy fur was black as pitch and it's blood ran purple from it's injury. It squealed in pain again, and Willow caught sight of pointed teeth.

She raised her axe and slammed it back into the beast.

"Ha! You aren't so scary now, you dumb jerk." A few of it's teeth had been knocked loose during her assault. Willow stooped over and plucked them from the earth. "Sharp," she murmured, gently running a finger along the edge. She wiped the blood onto the grass and stuffed them into her pocket.

Something snarled again.

"Oh, come on!" she groaned, hoisting her axe high once again. The hound bounded towards her from her left. She waited until he was within petting distance, then swung her weapon.

The blade slipped clean from the handle, landing at her feet with a thump. She watched as it caved in on itself and collapsed into a heap of dust.

"Shit."

The hound, taking advantage of her moment of distraction, leaped for her neck. Willow snapped out of her trance with not a second to spare; instead of latching onto her jugular, the creature sailed over her shoulder. Unfortunately, Willow was too slow to flee entirely. Once the dog hit the ground, it spun, pounced, and latched onto her arm.

Willow howled in pain. She used her good hand to beat the beast over the head until it released it's death grip. She saw her blood on it's lips.

The bleeding woman turned tail and fled.

All of her limbs burned. Willow regretted her earlier tussle with the rabbit; it's nourishment had been negligible, and perhaps her axe wouldn't have broken if she hadn't slammed it around so much during the chase. She cursed her own stupidity. Hindsight was 20/20.

She felt the thing nip at her heels. It's disgusting, snuffly grunts prompted her to move faster, push herself a little farther with each footfall.

She wondered how long she'd be able to run.

She wondered when she'd have to call it quits.

Eventually Willow felt her side begin to cramp. Her lungs burned as she tried to gulp in air. Her vision blurred. The endless expanse of savanna began to wobble, and dark figures began to crawl into her peripherals. Her body was failing. She was failing.

"Willow!" someone shouted, and he sounded remarkably like the man she saved the other day.

She blinked, refusing to slow her step. The man and his voice were indeed one and the same; she could have recognized his springy hair anywhere. He, too, was running as if a pack of wild animals were at his feet. As he grew closer, Willow realized that it was indeed the case.

Two hounds were trailing behind Wilson; one was flanking him slightly to the right while the other snuffled along a little further behind. He whipped his head around like a madman.

"Willow, turn left!"

She glanced over her shoulder. Her hound was gaining on her, falling behind a few steps only when it attempted to close it's massive jaws around her ankles. She really had nothing left to lose.

Wilson was running perpendicular to Willow now, and she followed his change in direction. Wilson, though he looked exhausted, was keeping slightly ahead of her. Willow distantly wondered if he had always been this fast, or if her energy reserves were finally hitting rock bottom.

"What's your plan now?" she wheezed. The man didn't respond; instead, he extended his arm and pointed toward the horizon.

A rocky field lay just beyond the savanna's edge. She really wasn't following his train of thought, but having no alternatives to offer, she continued to race for the field.

The yielding grass underfoot gradually became more solid. Her boots clacked loudly against the stone, echoing across the quarry. She looked for a mountain, or cave, or even a cluster of boulders to climb to safety.

She only saw dozens of tall, black birds. Each bird had a single eye that covered a majority of it's face. They were scattered across the field, some hunkered protectively beside large blue eggs, others scratching at cracks in the ground. A few halted their activities as the humans and their canine companions neared their nests.

"Duck!" Wilson shouted. Willow was confused, but ducked regardless; she did not dare to stop in case the hound took that chance to leap onto her back and end her struggle. A loud squawking beak whizzed over her head, and a shrill yelp rang in her ears. She didn't look back.

He had lead her across the entirety of the field when Willow realized that she could no longer hear pounding footsteps behind her. She turned her head, expecting massive jaws to close around her face. She only saw the gray ground, dotted with disturbed pebbles.

"We lost them," she breathed. Willow promptly collapsed.

She lay on her back, chest heaving, legs burning, and arm throbbing painfully. Her wound was still bleeding freely. She wondered how she hadn't bled to death during their escape.

She felt hands inspecting her wound, heard a sympathetic "Ow" as his fingers grazed the area unmarked by teeth. Willow stared at the sky, happy to breathe.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

"Hey."

Willow reluctantly turned her head, her cheek skimming the dusty ground. Wilson was crouching beside her, a small bowl of something cradled in his hands.

"Looks like the tables have turned," he chuckled grimly. He gestured to her arm. "May I?"

Willow tried to shrug, but quickly found that the action had rather painful results. "Sure," she squeaked, trying desperately to keep from blacking out. She wondered how much blood she'd lost.

"Ok, this is going to hurt. But it'll help disinfect the wound." He put the bowl down and dug around in his pocket, muttering to himself. He eventually pulled out a stick.

"You can bite down on this if you-"

"Just do the thing already," she groaned. She turned her head back towards the sky. Though she was no longer able to see the man's face, she assumed he nodded.

"Three, two, one." Something sharp and wet and burning made it's way into her wound; Willow tried desperately to bite back a scream. Tears streamed down her face as she bit her tongue. She really wished she had taken him up on the stick offer.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he was muttering. He was patting her shoulder awkwardly, and she would have laughed at him had her limb not been searing itself to a crisp. The pain lifted within a few seconds, though, and a blissful numbness fell over her limb.

"Oh my god," she breathed. She pulled herself up and scrubbed the tear tracks from her dirty cheeks.

"That burned. So bad." She rotated her arm, inspected the bite wound. While her arm still bore the indents of a ring of teeth, the wound was no longer open; a pinkish, irritated looking scar had replaced it. "What the hell was that stuff?"

Wilson, who looked a little disturbed by her crass language, looked down at the empty bowl. "It was a healing salve I threw together a few days ago."

Though Willow wanted to ask what it was made of, how he put it together, what his secrets were, she was exhausted. The sun began to dip lower in the sky, signaling the gradual end of the day.

"I guess we're going to have to camp here," she said. Wilson nodded. Willow eyed the birds in the distance, who had abandoned their hound massacre in favor or returning to their nests.

"Don't worry; they're only dangerous if you get too close to their eggs. We're far enough away that they won't bother us."

Again, Willow felt questions bubble up into her mind. How did he know this? When had he first seen these things? How did he know so much about this world already when, a few days ago, he had nearly been disemboweled by a tree?

Instead of asking, though, she smiled. "Alright. I'm trusting you."

He smiled back.

"I'll set up for our survivor party."

With a cozy fire lit and piles of grass beneath their backs, the two survivors tried to relax. Willow drifted in and out of sleep. The cold ground was unforgiving, and though her arm was mostly healed, it still ached from the damage it had sustained. Not to mention her stomach, which had grown emptier and emptier as the seconds ticked by, was keeping her from sleeping deeply. She woke to painful cramps more than once, though thankfully her outbursts didn't wake Wilson. He was still curled away from the fire, hair askew and breaths even.

She considered taking her lighter and raiding the tall bird camps, but knew that venture would mean certain death; they were feisty, quick, and protective, and in her weakened state she knew she would not be able to outrun an angry parent. She yawned, rubbed her eyes, and dragged herself over to the dwindling fire.

Feeding the flames brightened her spirits a bit; their curling hands felt like gentle reassurances against her cheek. She couldn't live off of fire, though; although she would love to taste, she knew that she'd just end up disfiguring her mouth if she even dared to breathe too close to it. Instead she settled for the comfort it provided, shielding her and Wilson from the dark and the monsters and everything that wanted to see them dead.

Them. What were they, now that they were even? She thought back to him walking away with only the clothes on his back. She had been almost certain that he would die within a week. He had not exactly seemed like a survivalist; he seemed far too posh for that type of lifestyle. Though she had formerly written off the man as a walking disaster, she now found herself grateful for his existence. Without his quick thinking, she would have surely died; even if she had escaped the dogs, she would have eventually bled out, and if she had somehow avoided that, then nasty infections would have ended her.

She heard a shuffling from behind her. She turned, face to face with the short (though he wasn't truly short; he was actually pretty average, and she was admittedly tall for her gender) man. He looked concerned.

"Can't sleep?" She shook her head. "Why ever not? You were positively exhausted earlier."

Her growling stomach answered for her. She put her hands over her guts in embarrassment, shielding her weakness from the world. This was humiliating. She had been doing so well, had been so sure that she'd survive with ease. She had promised herself that she wouldn't starve to death, just as the strange man in the suit had warned.

Wilson tapped her shoulder. He offered handful of carrots, berries, and a sight that Willow could hardly comprehend; a hefty chunk of meat. It dwarfed the meager rabbit chunks that she had been eating for the past few days

"How...?" she asked. Wilson passed his rations into her shaking palms and rubbed his hand on his neck. "Well, you see, it kind of ties in to how I made that salve."

She cooked her food while he told his tale; apparently, he had been wandering in a forest when he came across a broken down little house. He tried to get inside, but it was locked, and he couldn't figure out a way to break it. He was considering throwing a rock through the window when he heard squealing from within the trees.

"I ran over to what I believed was it's source, but found no living creatures; there was only the hunk of healthy looking meat, some rancid purple meat, and a few pink tube things."

He had tried to cook the tubes but found that they did not take to flame well. In his endless pursuit of knowledge, he did what any scientist worth his beans would; he carried out an experiment.

"I ate it."

Willow stared.

"I found that it healed a few of my minor wounds, so I figured that combining it with some kind of filler could make it go a long way. After a little bit of trial and error, I finally ended up with a few bowls of crude antiseptic. "

He folded his hands into his lap, signaling the end of his tale. Willow continued to stare.

"What?" Wilson asked, frowning in confusion.

"You're a scientist?" she asked around a mouthful of steak.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, I didn't mention that before, huh?"

"No, I don't recall that being mentioned."

"Oh."

She smiled. "I guess that explains why your head is so big."

She expected him to have another outburst at the jibe. Instead he gave her a small smile.

"It's seems you're back in high spirits." Willow found that he was right.

While her full belly and healed arm were certainly huge factors in her mood change, Willow found that his company had caused her to feel anything close to happiness for the first time in days.

Willow had never been an introvert by choice; it just gradually became a part of her being. She remembered desperately trying to make friends in her childhood, and her attempts had succeeded for a short while. But eventually she would slip up, accidentally teach a few too many kids how to snag their parent's matchbooks and light up blades of grass in their backyards. She was constantly banned from every house in her town, and eventually gave up on any sort of friendship. People whispered about her as she walked by, "There goes the pyro," they'd gasp. "Don't upset her, or she'll burn down your house with you inside." The words had stung at first, but as the years went by she grew used to them.

Willow had learned to love quiet stillness and solitary evenings, away from gossip and angry parents. Even when her own parents forced her to move the day she turned eighteen, she still didn't feel lonely; no one interrupted her comforting rituals, which took her back to summer evenings with her Troop. She had her fire and her memories and that was enough for her. Fire was her friend, and it was the only comfort she had ever wanted. She had held down a job (just barely; her reputation didn't exactly allow her much leeway with her boss) and managed to scrape by for years.

Sure, once upon a time her lifestyle would have depressed her to no end, but that was when she was a girl; as a young woman, she was happy enough with the cards she'd been dealt.

However, she couldn't deny the smile that had wormed it's way onto her face as Wilson told his ridiculous story, couldn't suppress her gratitude for everything he had done for her. The man was small, a bit arrogant, and a bit too proper, but Willow found that she tolerated him more than any person she'd ever met, and he seemed to be tolerating her.

"Hey, I think I want to take you up on your offer."

"What offer?" he asked. He was messing with the bowls of salve, stacking them carefully to ensure that none of them could leak out into his pockets. She saw him smiling, and knew that he knew damn well what offer she was talking about.

She slugged his arm and he winced.

"Did you change your mind because of my intelligence?"

She grinned and turned away, gazing into the flames. They were comforting, sure, but they couldn't feed her. They couldn't heal her wounds. They couldn't tell her stories to distract her from the pains of life. They couldn't come up with grande ideas like luring a bunch of bloodthristy hounds into a feathery death trap on a whim. Wilson could provide what the flames could not, and she could do the same for him. If she gave it a shot, she was certain they could survive this stupid world together.

"Yeah," she said. "It's because you're smart."

**A/N: Thus ends chapter two. I'm going to try to update this every Sunday, just to get a consistent schedule started. Thanks for the favs and reviews!**


	3. Rain Check

"This rain is killing me," Willow grumbled, tipping the brim of her soggy hat. Wilson nodded sympathetically, staring daggers at the darkened sky. The nomads had wandered for days, mapping out the island and searching for a place to settle down. They had huddled beneath a dripping birch tree to wait out the icy rain. Wilson, who was normally quite fond of rain, found his patience wearing thin as the ground beneath his feet began turning to mush.

Willow hadn't tolerated the rain from the moment it began to drizzle, and made sure that Wilson was aware of the fact.

She was seated beside him, shifting uncomfortably against the soaked bark. The tall girl had been weaving dry grasses together for about an hour, mumbling colorful threats as her hands moved.

She occasionally tossed a fistful of grass into their waning fire.

"I hope this lets up soon," Wilson lamented through chattering teeth.

Willow nodded vigorously in agreement, her hat threatening to slip from her head and tumble onto the mud. She latched onto it with a death grip, wincing as her hand skimmed the dripping brim.

"Is mine almost done?" Wilson asked, running his hands through his ruined hair. Willow responded by tossing the hat into his lap. Wilson quickly stuffed it on his head, ignoring any lingering worries about hat-hair. He sighed in relief once the water stopped dripping down his neck.

Safe from the elements, Wilson began to contemplate their game plan.

Before the two could safely explore the rest of the island, they needed to set up a base camp; a rendezvous point that could provide food, security, and a sense of normality. Unfortunately, Wilson and Willow had both been extremely picky about which locations actually met the proper criteria.

Willow absolutely refused to live anywhere near the ocean. Ponds were alright, as even someone as fiery as her needed to drink, but the ocean made her edgy and nervous. Though they had found a beautiful birch grove filled to the brim with berry bushes and wild carrots, the fact that the air was tinged with sea salt made her abandon the idea altogether. "I'd rather die," she had said. Wilson had sighed, gathered all the berries he could, and followed her away from the orchard.

The scientist, on the other hand, refused to live anywhere near pine forests. He was embarrassed about it, but couldn't deny his creeping paranoia whenever he looked upon the evergreens. All he could see was an army of hulking beasts, ripping themselves from the soil and staring hungrily down at them. Willow had thankfully noticed his tension, and said nothing as they traveled through the piney woods. Though there were rabbits galore and rocks around every bend, she had focused on getting them to the other side of the forest as quickly as possible.

Wilson wondered if she had been afraid as well.

The scientist had considered Willow's savanna, but she had quickly killed the idea.

"There's no resources left," she had groaned. "I already cut down all the trees, and the only rabbits I found were ridiculously skinny. It's such a shame, too; I've never been anywhere drier."

The rain started shortly after that conversation. Wilson wondered if there was any correlation.

"This could be bad," Willow admitted, squeezing at the now soggy grass. The fire had grown far too low, and Willow looked nervously at her wet tinder. "This isn't going to work. Do you have anything?"

Wilson dug through his dripping pockets, sighing as his hands found only soaked sticks. "Everything's drenched," he replied. Willow groaned.

"Alright, we'll have to work with what we've got. Give me the sticks, they'll dry faster than logs."

Wilson passed them over. Sighing, Willow tossed them into the fire. It hissed in complaint, releasing a cloud of steam. Her soggy grass followed suit. The fire blazed a little brighter.

"This sucks," she grumbled. She rested her chin atop her knees, glowering angrily at the sky. "Rain is so unnatural."

Wilson couldn't bite back his grin. "That's such a ridiculous thing to say," he laughed. Willow's frown deepened.

"It's true, though! Water coming from the sky is so surreal to think about. Imagine if it rained sticks, or leaves, or red berries; actual, useful things."

She kicked at a puddle that had grown steadily closer to her feet. "Something other than stupid gross sky water."

"But it's essential for life," Wilson countered. He cupped his hands together, creating a basin for rainwater to collect. "Without it, nothing would thrive; plants would wither away, thus starving herbivores, and the carnivores that feed off of them. We would have no berries, no meat, not even the tinder you love so much. You owe your life to rain." He finished his speech with a flick of the wrist, spraying raindrops on the tips of the girl's boots.

Wilson had never seen someone look so disgusted.

He couldn't help himself. The scientist erupted in a fit of laughter, biting down on his palm in an attempt to quell his snorts.

She just looked so incredibly _revolted_.

With a snarl, Willow snatched Wilson's hat from his head. Icy water immediately assaulted him, soaking him to the bone. The girl held the hat threateningly over the fire, a sneer plastered on her face.

"Take it back," she warned.

"I can't take back a scientific fact, Willow. Don't be silly." A chilly wind whipped past him; he shivered violently. "Let's just be reasonable adults. You can give me back the hat you so graciously made for me, not let me freeze to death, and accept that I'm right."

The corner of the hat began to darken, steam curling from the withering brim.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Wilson begged.

Willow raised an eyebrow. "It sure doesn't sound like you're taking back the awful thing you said."

Wilson threw his hands into the air. "Fine, whatever! Spit all over the most fundamental aspect of biology, I don't care! May I please have the hat back? My hair is getting ruined."

Willow snorted, tossing the woven straw into his hands. Wilson clutched it like a lifeline.

"Thank you."

Willow crossed her arms. "It's too wet to burn properly anyway."

Their conversation died out and, after a particularly strong gale of wind, so did their tiny flame. Willow immediately panicked, throwing their remaining tufts of grass into the pit. Try as she did, they failed to light; her shaky hands could barely hold her lighter steady, let alone flick the switch to ignite their soaked fuel. Just as she was about to give up, a tiny flame erupted from the top of her favorite device.

The lighter immediately slipped from her grasp.

Willow shrieked in anger.

"This isn't fair! I used to be a goddamn girl scout, I should be good at this! Why can't I even light a godforsaken fire?"

Wilson awkwardly patted at her shoulder. She turned to face him, the very definition of misery painted upon her face. She shuddered violently.

"This sucks," she sniffed angrily, her bottom lip jutting out in a juvenile pout.

"I know, but we must work with the cards we've been dealt; it's raining, and extremely cold, and that would make anyone a bit testy."

He tucked his legs closer to his chest in an attempt to warm them.

"You said you used to be a girl scout, correct?" She nodded slowly. "Then surely you must have other skills besides lighting fires and weaving grasses. I personally don't know much about scouts, but from what I've heard they seem to teach a myriad of skills that one could find applicable in a situation such as ours, minus the hellish creatures of course; I certainly doubt the scouts prepared you for a tree guardian, or those voracious hound-beasts, or-"

Wilson realized that Willow had scooted closer to him as he rambled. She was now pressed hip-to-hip with him. She carefully avoided his gaze.

"Don't make it awkward," she grumbled. "And don't flatter yourself; you're right. We did learn other skills. Rule one of survival is find shelter, but as you can see," she said, gesturing at their birch tree, "ours kind of sucks. A shelter needs to be able to do two things; block the elements and provide warmth. We've got hats for elements."

Wilson was following her train of thought. "And a human body provides warmth. Why didn't I think of that? It's brilliant and simple, we could have solved our problems ages ago. To be fair, you're a little thin to adequately replace a fire but-"

She shot him a deadly glare. Wilson immediately shut up.

"No offense."

Her mouth remained set in a thin line. Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Let's make the most of this storm. How about we get to know each other? We've been travelling together for days, and all I know about you is that you like fire, are decent with handcrafts, and used to be a girl scout." He wanted to add 'brave and just a tad headstrong,' but really didn't feel like starting another argument. He was really appreciating the warmth she provided, and didn't feel like having it ripped away just yet.

"Alright," Willow said. "There's not much else to do, anyway."

They both sat in silence, waiting for the other to speak.

Willow broke the awkward haze.

"Uh...this feels really forced." Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Apologies; I haven't exactly, ahem, socialized very much in the past few years. I'm a little out of practice."

Willow chuckled into her hand. "That's a little sad."

"Oh? And were you miss popular back where you're from?"

Her grin slipped from her face. She looked down at the mud, hands wrapped around her legs.

"Not exactly. People don't really want to be friend with the resident pyromaniac."

Wilson regretted bringing up the topic altogether.

"Oh. Well, um, surely you must have had friends back in your scout days? Why don't you tell me about that?"

She tipped her head back in thought. Wilson noticed that stray strands of hair were sticking to her cheeks.

"Well, I joined when I was around ten years old. My dad was the one who suggested it; mom never really approved. She had always wanted a daughter she could doll up and parade around town. Imagine her disappointment when she got me instead."

Wilson tried to imagine Willow in a floral print dress. The only image he could conjure was one wreathed in flames.

"He signed me up in secret, and when she found out, it was chaos." Willow chuckled softly at the memory.

"I was a bit nervous about joining; I didn't know any of the other girls who were there and, believe it or not, I used to be really shy. Anyway, so I go to our first meeting, and my scout leader was just the most saccharine thing. She kind of irritated me, and after a few classes of her sugary lessons, I was about ready to quit."

Her eyes became unfocused as a dreamy smile crept onto her face. "But then they told us about a camping trip, and I was so excited that I actually thought I was going to explode. I had gone camping before with my dad, and I loved it so much. I knew I'd make a ton of friends once I showed off my skills in the wilderness."

She sighed dreamily, staring off into the rainstorm. A sweet smile had worked it's way upon her face.

Wilson had never seen her look so genuinely happy.

"Well? Did you succeed in your endeavor?"

She chuckled warmly. "In a sense. Everyone was really impressed at first; I answered all the questions, and people were scrambling to group up with me. It was everything I ever dreamed."

She stopped, inspected her hands. "But then they started getting irritated. I know now that they were jealous, but at the time I thought that they knew there was something wrong with me."

"When it came time to learn about the basics of campfires, I knew it would be my last shot to impress them. I had never built an honest-to-goodness bonfire before; my fires had always been made through matches. My dad took care of the fire whenever we went camping. But when it came time to test, it all just...came naturally to me."

Her smile returned. "My success just made them angrier. I tried bragging, thought maybe they hadn't seen what I'd done. I talk about that fire for hours. By the end of the trip, all of my chances were shot. My freaky enthusiasm for the fire didn't help much."

"In the end, though, I was happy. I had no friends, sure, but I had skills. I could be independent if I chose to, which is more than most women can say. Hell, if I wanted to, I could run away and not stop. I always kept essentials in a little backpack so that, if the time ever came, I could just leave, keep walking until I ended up at Lake Erie-"

"Wait, Lake Erie? Isn't that in the States?"

Willow paled. Wilson, though he noticed her change in pallor, carried on.

"No wonder your accent sounds a bit odd. I didn't want to point it out in case you had some sort of speech impediment. How did you end up in Britain?"

The thudding rain began to lighten. Blue spots of sky dotted the clouds, which had thinned and lightened as Willow told her tale. The girl hopped up abruptly, stretched her soggy arms.

"That's a tale for another day," she said. Her tone implied a finality that left Wilson a bit confused. However, he followed her lead. They resumed wandering through the birch woods.

As they wandered the ground underfoot became drier. Soon the squelching mud beneath Wilson's shoes became less yielding, and the pair progressed faster. However, their unfortunate hold up earlier that afternoon cost them many hours of daylight, which meant nightfall was just around the corner.

"I think we need to set up a camp again," Wilson decided. Willow immediately began to set up the evening's fire. She was as meticulous as ever, placing each log carefully into a pyramid. When completed, she stood and dusted her hands off, surveying her handiwork.

"There, that should keep you going for the night." She immediately began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Wilson called after her.

"I'm not done exploring," she called back.

"Willow that's nonsense, it's nearly sundown! The grue will tear you to bits without a fire."

She turned and gestured at her lighter. "Uh, duh? I'll be fine. Be back in a bit."

Wilson got up to chase her down, then sighed. He didn't feel like dealing with a difficult woman. His feet hurt from traveling, and the ground was looking softer by the minute.

* * *

Wilson was awoken by the acrid tang of smoke.

"Help! Help! Everything's on fire!" someone cried beside him. As Wilson's head cleared, he realized that it belonged to Willow. He leaped up, expecting to find a singed forest and a frantic friend.

However, he saw only a woman laughing hysterically by his side, a burning stick clutched in her hands.

"Oh god, you should have seen the look on your face!" she squeaked. Wilson frowned deeply.

"That was far from funny, Willow. I thought the camp was on fire."

"Lighten up, I tried literally every other way to wake you up; you wouldn't budge." Wilson's frown refused to be lifted.

She sighed, the puff of air lifting her bangs from her forehead. "If you're expecting an apology then forget it- that was comedy gold right there. Anyway, I woke you up because I found something exciting." She reached for his hand and tugged abruptly, pulling him away from the safety of the campfire. She held her torch aloft, guiding Wilson through the darkness.

The sun was just creeping over the horizon when Willow abruptly stopped. Wilson nearly stumbled into her.

"Look," she breathed beside him. He forced his eyes to open a little wider.

He gasped.

They were standing on the crest of a hill, which overlooked a small valley. The valley, well guarded by steep hills and offering many paths for evacuation, was dotted with berry bushes and birch trees. A tiny cobblestone path wound down to a few small ponds. Wilson heard the distant cry of tallbirds. The grass dried up towards the east, signifying a savanna and, hopefully, an abundance of rabbits.

It was nearly perfect.

"We can chop down those pine trees," Willow said quietly. She squeezed Wilson's hand.

"Or I can burn 'em," she rectified. Wilson could hear the glee in her voice.

He smiled.

They had found a home.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not really fond of this chapter but I felt like it was necessary. Reviews are welcome!**


	4. Friendly Fire

The lumpy forest loomed, tall and threatening, before the girl. Willow felt herself hesitate, her steps slowing, as she neared the edge of the meadow. She half expected a tree to blast her into the sky with a well-aimed swipe.

"This is stupid," she grumbled, shaking her head violently. "Why am I scared of some dumb trees?" She took a deep breath and carried on into the forest, lighter gripped tight.

Her adventure was not without purpose; earlier that morning, Willow had been cooking seeds over an open flame. She had been grumbling about how long it took berry bushes to bear fruit again. "If you ask me," she had said, "I think they're being entirely selfish about it. Heck, they're probably sentient here; I mean, if the trees can be big angry jerks, then what's stopping the bushes? Plants are plants."

Wilson hadn't been listening, as Willow expected. He had been fiddling with some strange contraption that he had spent the whole night building. Willow popped some seeds into her mouth and joined him by the machine.

"How's it coming along?" she asked around her mouthful of seeds. He hardly spared her a glance, his bloodshot eyes still trained on the machine. He mumbled something incoherently. Willow clapped her hand on his shoulder.

"You've been messing with that thing for too long. Come on, even mad scientists need sleep."

"I'm fine," he snapped. He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes, which bore larger bags than usual. "I'm just a bit frustrated; I'm missing a key component for an invention that could make our lives immensely easier. I was actually about to set out to gather it-"

"Oh no you don't," Willow said sternly. "You'll walk two feet, fall down a hill somewhere, and die. I'll go get the thing you need."

Wilson huffed, visibly forcing back a massive yawn.

"Fine," he conceded, turning his body away from the machine. "I think this task will be better suited to you, anyway, with your affinity for flames." Willow's eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite force of nature.

"Do I get to burn down stuff?" she asked giddily, bouncing on her heels excitedly. Wilson smiled.

"Actually, yes. I need charcoal, which means you'll have to-"

"Burn down a forest?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself; I don't need a forest's worth of charcoal. A few handfuls should suffice; you only need to burn down a few trees."

Wilson failed to bite back a second yawn. Willow smiled warmly at him.

"Don't worry, science guy, I'll get your supplies."

Wilson gave her a final, terse nod before heading towards the fire pit. He spread his straw roll, systematically smoothing it to the best of his abilities before curling up on top. Willow turned away and walked towards the birch forest.

"Try not to set the whole island on fire," he called to her. She gave him a parting wave.

She found a particularly large birch tree, and had nearly set it aflame when she remembered a crucial detail; these trees dropped edible nuts when felled, which made them an excellent source of food. If she burned them down, she wasn't sure that she'd be able to salvage the nuts before they, too, burned to ash.

She sighed. "Count yourself lucky," she said to the large tree. The tree didn't respond.

Willow lamented the fact that she and Wilson had cut down the few pine trees that had lived in their valley; despite his (very reasonable) concern regarding the coniferous plants, he had been just as concerned about their camp accidentally catching fire.

"It's not like we have anything irreplaceable," Willow had grumbled, but Wilson's decision had been firm.

She wandered west in search of a proper, non-wasteful forest to burn. The young woman eventually came upon a small meadow, ringed by the birch wood at one end and a forest of misshapen pine trees at the other.

She had approached, given herself a pep talk, and set her feet back in motion; she walked up to the base of an ugly pine, lighter at the ready. With a well practiced flick of her thumb, she brought forth her tiny flame.

She watched the tree crumble in on itself, goose bumps rising along her arms and legs. It was so thrilling to set things aflame; Wilson knew that she had an unhealthy obsession with burning things, but he had no idea how deep that obsession ran. It was like a drug to her; she found herself itching to burn everything within arms reach whenever she was stressed, or nervous, or sad. Though it had afflicted her since childhood, Willow could have sworn that, since entering this strange world, her urges had only grown stronger.

It terrified her.

She never asked to be like this; Willow hated feeling chained to something as dangerous as fire to feel alive. She could never really relish her creations, and she had far too many close calls with flames to consider it truly friendly. The scars on her legs and feet, carefully covered by tights and boots, were proof enough of it's danger.

But she still felt a kinship with the element, and she couldn't ignore it's comfort. Once the tree crumbled to coals at her feet, her goose bumps fled and her pulse began to slow.

She bent down, scooped up the handful of coals, and tucked them safely into the pockets of her skirt. She frowned, annoyed at the coil of anxiety that came slinking back into her mind. This world had taken a toll on her, and she deserved some stress-relief.

"He did say he needed me to burn down a few trees..." she rationalized aloud. The creepy forest gave no reply.

Willow felt like dancing; embers were fluttering from the very tips of the pines, falling at her feet like snow. She nearly skipped from tree to tree, her lighter perpetually glowing beneath her fingers. She made the ugly trees beautiful with her pretty little fires, and she felt more composed and level-headed than she'd been in nearly two weeks.

"Burn, burn, burn!" she giggled to herself, staring up at her handiwork. She was so happy to finally, finally have a place where she could let loose and feel contentment without the fear of hurting others. Normally, giving into her fiery obsession resulted in intense remorse; she was often chided for putting herself above others, and that guilt ate at her constantly. However, the only other person on the horrid island was Wilson, who was safe and sound at their camp, miles away.

It was just her and her flames.

Willow looked up, grinning ecstatically.

Her smile slipped from her face.

Every single tree was burning.

She spun around, looking for any possible route to escape through. The fire starter found none.

In her excitement, she had wandered into a denser part of the woods. The trees, which were larger and thicker than normal pines, created a makeshift barricade around where she stood. The wall was steadily turning bright orange as flames licked up the sides.

Willow was, in short, royally screwed.

"Crap," she muttered. A slow creaking met her ears. She looked up.

"Crap!" she screamed. She leaped away from the path of the falling tree, just barely avoiding it's red-hot foliage. It crashed in an explosion of ash and embers, and Willow followed suit a short distance away. She scrambled up from the soot-laced grass and stared, open mouthed, at the tree that had nearly ended her life.

"I have to get out of here," she breathed. She took a deep (surprisingly clear) breath of air and ducked beneath the branches of a flaming pine tree.

She found it odd how easily air flowed into her lungs, despite the thick smoke lacing the air. It didn't burn, or cause her to hack, or even give her pause; it merely tasted a little charred, which she didn't find unpleasant.

Willow's contemplation came to a grinding halt. Another tree had cracked under the assault of the flames, it's trunk toppling down onto the fleeing girl. She felt it's needles dig into her back and cried out.

"I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead," she chanted from beneath the burning pine. Instead of flesh-melting heat and searing pain, however, she felt only a pleasant warmth. Though she struggled, Willow eventually managed to turn her head enough to examine her situation.

There was no doubt about it; the tree pinning her down was completely engulfed in flames. The air was thick and hazy with the heat of it, and she expected each breath to burn beyond belief. As before, though, the heat failed to singe her throat; it merely felt like a sip of pleasantly hot coffee. The needles on her back felt like warm summer grass.

Willow was confused.

By all accounts, she should be dead by now, or at least horribly disfigured. The flames, instead of eating her flesh, merely licked at her cheek, nestled through her hair, and caressed against her arms.

A smile crept onto her face.

Perhaps this world wasn't so horrible after all.

The tree, due to it's size, took a good few hours to burn out. Willow waited patiently beneath it, lingering in a state of near bliss. Eventually she felt the heat begin to ease up. She pushed up against the trunk experimentally, and the tree caved in beneath her touch. Brittle and broken from the heat, it was a cinch for Willow to kick her way out from beneath the decimated pine. It rolled away from her, leaving a trail of cinders in it's wake.

Willow looked around at the dead forest. The once lumpy pines stared, cold and angular, back at her. They weren't as beautiful now that the flames had died, but she still thought their new forms were much more interesting. She took them down, one by one, with her axe, working steadily until a majority of the forest lay in her pockets.

With a final glance at the now-barren, burnt field, Willow began to head back to camp, her mind full of questions and blissfully at ease.

"Where have you been?" Wilson asked frantically once she returned to camp. Willow shrugged her sooty shoulders and dug into her pockets, retrieving handfuls of coals. "Getting the stuff you asked for," she replied. Wilson's mouth stayed set in a thin line.

"You've been gone for hours; it's nearly sundown! And why are you covered in ashes? Please don't tell me you rolled around in the dirt for fun."

Willow frowned, staring at the hand he had placed on her shoulder. She shrugged away from him as he began dusting off her shirt. "If you must know," she said coolly, "I spent the afternoon pinned beneath a flaming tree."

Wilson stared.

And stared.

And stared.

He continued staring until Willow waved her hand in his face. "Uh, hello? Earth to science man? I just told you something completely astounding and scientifically impossible; aren't you going to bombard me with questions?"

Wilson snapped out of his stupor, although he was still confused. He struggled to string together a coherent sentence for a few moments. "Why are you not burned? Where are your injuries?" He patted at her face awkwardly, searching for hidden burns on her cheeks. Willow resisted the urge to push him away; she would have appreciated his concern, had his inspection not been purely for scientific purposes.

"Well, you see, that's a really funny story. How about we have some dinner first? I haven't had a chance to eat anything besides seeds all day."

Wilson nodded, though he still looked perturbed. He took the charcoal clasped in her hands and smiled slightly. "Actually, it's funny that you mentioned that," he said warmly.

"How so?" Willow asked. The man didn't respond; instead, he began trotting towards his science machine, refusing to acknowledge Willow's questions. Her curiosity urged her to follow the scientist.

She stood beside him as he tinkered with the machine, pulling levers and squinting as if deep in thought. He made a few noises like "Hmm" and "Ah!" as he deliberated. Willow was still incredibly lost.

After a few moments of silence, the machine began making a loud clanking sound. It shuddered as it worked, churning and spitting almost angrily while Wilson watched it with glee. Willow had honestly never seen the man so happy.

The mechanism came to a grinding halt. It gave a final belch, spitting out seemingly random items onto the ground. Wilson's grin threatened to overtake his entire face.

"Isn't this incredible?" he asked, kneeling down to inspect his creations. Willow tried to feel excited, but she still felt horribly confused.

"Uh, yeah? It's a...pot, I guess? And some sticks."

"No, no, no! It is far more than that. Here, grab the sticks and follow me."

He jogged to the side of the science machine, the pot and charcoal stuffed beneath his arms. Willow followed dutifully with the sticks in her grasp.

Wilson snatched the sticks away and quickly assembled his creation. "Ah," Willow thought. "Now I see it."

A tiny stone pot was held aloft by four stick-legs, cradled securely over a bed of coals. Though it was small and a tad crude, she could definitely see it's relation to a crock pot.

"That's incredible," she said softly, kneeling lower to further inspect the tiny pot. Wilson lifted the lid and threw an assortment of meats and berries into the cooker.

"While that cooks, why don't you get me up to speed with your," he paused, turning to give Willow another look-over, "newest developments?"

Willow nodded, crossing her legs. The enticing smell of cooking meat reached her nose, and she bit back a desire to drool.

She told him about her afternoon adventure in it's entirety; Wilson, to her surprise, refrained from interrupting her. He nodded solemnly, made noises of astonishment, and occasionally widened his eyes, but was otherwise silent. Willow finished her tale with a dreamy flourish, sighing happily as she recalled her closeness with the flames.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"

"I think," Wilson said, scrubbing at his stubbled jaw, "That we should run some experiments." He had a nearly manic gleam in his eye, one that worried Willow immensely.

"Uh, no."

"What?" Wilson asked. "Why not? This is a totally unnatural development, if what you've told me about your prior injuries is true. We need to fully understand this phenomenon so that it can be fully utilized!"

"I'm a human being, Wilson," she said through gritted teeth. "Not some lab rat you can toy around with for your own enjoyment! And don't try to hide behind the whole 'for science' shtick; I know you get off on this kind of stuff, and I'm putting my foot down."

He opened his mouth, ready to retort. Willow would not let him have it.

"I mean it."

He gave her a long, tired look, then sighed. "Apologies," he said quietly. Willow couldn't help but notice the subtle scorn in his voice.

She ignored it.

"It's alright."

Wilson stood up to collect the meal simmering in the crockpot. Willow, too, stood up, though she headed for the fire pit instead. She threw a bit of grass into it's center, fanning the flames with gentle hands.

She dipped her fingers into the fire, smiling as the flames climbed up her fingertips.

She heard Wilson sit beside her, two plates of meatballs held in his hands. Willow graciously accepted one.

He looked so sad.

Willow felt horrible.

She understood wholeheartedly what it was like to have an obsession; a tic that was so essential to her being that, without fulfilling it, she felt stressed and miserable for days on end. She had her cravings for fire. She wondered if science was Wilson's equivalent.

"Look," she said, stabbing halfheartedly at her meatballs. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

He glanced up briefly, then continued eating in silence.

"I really didn't mean to. I mean, I think I understand where you're coming from, with all your science and experiments and stuff. It's comforting to you, right?"

"Yes," he admitted, setting his plate on his knees. "It is, actually."

"See, it's like how I am with my fire; it reminds me of better times. And I bet your science does the same for you. And now I can actually experience my fire the way I've always wanted to, and the first thing I did when you tried to get a sense of familiarity is-" she stopped and looked down. "Is shout at you. And I'm really sorry. Even though you were a bit tactless in your approach."

She heard him chuckle faintly, and took this as a good sign. Willow set her untouched food on the ground and turned to look Wilson in the eye.

"Look, I don't want to be a lab rat; I really don't do well in situations where I have no control. But, I do kind of want to understand this better. And I'll let you help me understand it. Is that alright?" Willow offered him a hand, hoping to wipe the defeated look from his eyes.

Wilson, too, abandoned his food on the ground. He reached for Willow's hand, clasped it tight between his own.

"Yes, that sounds lovely," he said. "Thank you."

The pair held hands for a few moments longer, enjoying the comfort of the contact. Willow eventually pulled away, her stomach growling angrily now that the guilty knot had been untangled. She shoveled her food down her throat too fast to taste, though she enjoyed the warmth and heaviness of the meal itself.

"That invention really is fantastic," she said around a mouthful of meat. She swallowed and yawned, the chaos of the day catching up to her.

Wilson smiled at the compliment. "Perhaps we can start learning about your newly acquired flame retardance in the morning?"

Willow nodded her assent, her eyelids beginning to droop. She cleaned the last bits of sauce from her plate and stretched groggily.

"Thank you, Wilson," she said quietly. He acknowledged her with a slow, friendly nod, then abandoned the fire pit. Willow assumed that the scientist was going to fiddle with his science machine some more. A gradual clanking confirmed her suspicions.

The waning fire beckoned to her; Willow fed it until it glowed, bright and hot and lovely, in it's little stone pit. She lovingly dipped her hands into it's depths, smiling at the soothing warmth.

She fell asleep curled against the rocks.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for the support!**

**PVZOmega: Thank you for the wonderful suggestion! Unfortunately I already have a majority of this story plotted out in my head, and Webber doesn't fit in the direction I plan to take it. I do plan on writing a Webber (and Wendy!)-centric story eventually, and I also plan on introducing a few other familiar faces in this one :)**


	5. Recluse

"I regret agreeing to this," Willow huffed.

Sweat dripped from her brow and she looked close to collapsing. Wilson crouched at her side, abandoning his notes in favor of trying to support the withering Willow. She shoved her hand out to stop him from coming closer.

"Don't," she gasped. She threw the heated stones from her pockets and clutched her knees, doubling over as she attempted to catch her breath.

Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly and placed his hands behind his back. As he waited for the fire starter to compose herself, he retrieved his notes and began shuffling through them.

They were delicate and lightly smeared; Wilson had quickly learned that charcoal on dried leaves left much to be desired in terms of durability and legibility, but he had to work with what he had. He could make out a few of his smudged scribbles and began to review them.

"Well," he said, breaking the tense silence, "From what we've tried, it seems that you're impervious to physical damage from anything even remotely heated. Your epidermis has yet to be damaged in any physical sense, even when directly exposed to flames. I can't quite check on a molecular level, but you haven't shown any of the traditional symptoms of burns, so we can assume you are physically heat resistant."

He glanced at Willow, who was now laying on the ground, arms spread, chest rising and falling quickly. Wilson pulled out a handful of ripe berries and handed them to her. She took them gratefully, popping them in her mouth and sucking at the juices.

"However," he continued. "It appears you can still overheat. So you should still be careful about monitoring your hydration levels and try not to overexert yourself in extreme heat. I wonder why that is, though? What portion of your dermis is no longer resistant to heat? Perhaps if I run a few more tests..."

Willow gave him a rude gesture. Wilson stopped talking.

"No more," she said sternly. "I'm done with tests."

Wilson nodded; he was honestly surprised that she had humored him this much. He stood and dusted off his pants.

"Alright, then."

He began to gather up the two heated rocks; he had made them with the help of his newly refined scientific machine, which he'd proudly dubbed the 'Alchemy Engine.' Though he initially made the thermal stones for the experiments, he felt they'd be useful in the near future. The air was growing nippier as each day passed, and he predicted that soon they'd be entering an icy winter.

He tucked the stones in the chest he'd made specifically for winter supplies; so far, all it held was extra rations of wood and the two stones. Wilson forced back his little surge of fear at this lack of preparation; they would manage. They had to. He simply had to think outside the box.

Willow, still greedily inhaling berries, was now sitting up. Wilson brought her a small handful of ice, which she grudgingly accepted.

"This is horrible," she croaked around an ice cube. Wilson nodded sympathetically.

"You should feel better with rest and water. Try to stay in the shade until sundown." He grabbed his backpack and stood.

"Where are you going?" Willow asked. She tried to stand as well, but immediately began to sway.

"I'm going to try to find some more supplies. You should stay and rest; I'll be back before sundown."

Willow popped another ice cube in her mouth and crunched it noisily. After a long moment, she nodded.

"Try to find some stuff to use for fabric," she suggested. "I'm sick of sleeping out in the open, and I know you are too. I could make us some tents."

Wilson nodded; he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in a long time. It was hard to sleep deeply when you were constantly on high alert, surrounded by pulsing darkness that felt nearly alive. He could swear the dark was watching him, little white eyes teasing him from his peripherals but blinking out of existence once he looked at them head-on. It was driving the scientist mad.

"Will do," he assured. "I'll be off, then!"

"Try not to get yourself killed!" Willow called out. Wilson hoped he could do just that.

He walked for ages, picking up any materials he deemed even slightly useful. The scientist's knapsack gradually became weighed down with flint, sticks, and grass. Necessary as they were, the materials would not aid the two of them when winter came.

Wilson glanced at the sky; the sun was just beginning to set, casting the land in a faint orange glow. He sighed and began to trace his steps back to camp. He couldn't afford to keep returning empty handed; soon it would be far too cold to explore, and then the two of them would be stuck.

Something hissed. Wilson, startled, spun on his heels and came face to face with a group of giant spiders.

Each easily as big as his head, one of the enormous arachnids let out another piercing hiss before scuttling towards him. It's entourage followed suit.

One opened it's mouth to hiss again and Wilson caught sight of wicked-sharp fangs, long and thick as fingers.

He bolted.

Wilson had no idea where he was running anymore; all he was aware of were the dozens of disgusting hairy legs trained in his direction. The spiders shrieked and hissed intermittently, constantly reminding him that he was being pursued.

The ground grew sticky and swampy underfoot; Wilson risked glancing down and found that it had turned a sickly shade of purple.

"Where the heck am I?" he asked himself. He heard the scuttling again and picked up his pace, nearly slipping in the murky purple mud.

A small patch of muck started churning in front of him. Wilson, confused and terrified, pressed on, his foot landing directly on the bubbling mud. He felt something move beneath his ruined shoe.

The something rocketed out of the marsh, flinging the scientist high into the sky. He fell, saved by the yielding muck that softened his landing. It splattered across the looming tentacle that began whipping at the hoards of spiders.

Wilson picked himself up and scrubbed the mud from his eyes. He prepared to run again, but a sheet of spider silk fluttered onto the mud before him.

He picked it up and inspected the material. Sturdy, thick, and flexible, it would be the perfect replacement for traditional fabric.

The hissing stopped. Wilson blanched as the tentacle turned it's attention to him.

It smacked down where Wilson had been standing mere seconds before. He didn't dare to look back; he raced the setting sun as he ran back to camp, heart hammering madly in his chest. The spider silk stayed clutched in his sweaty fist.

"That took you long enough," Willow greeted. Wilson collapsed beside her, mud flaking from his body and shedding beside their fire.

"You look gross! What happened?" she asked, scooting away from the filthy scientist. He gulped in lungfuls of sweet, precious air and unclasped his fist.

"What is this?" Willow asked. She delicately scooped up the webbing, stained purple from the sticky swamp.

"Silk," Wilson managed to choke out. "There were big spiders, and a tentacle, in the swamp. And they died and they dropped that."

Willow grinned.

"Do you have any more?" she asked excitedly. Wilson shook his head.

"The tentacle was about to skewer me, so I ran."

His companion frowned.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to go back in the morning," she said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Wilson exclaimed. He leaped up, flakes of mud fluttering around his feet as he moved.

"Are you crazy? That's suicide! There were hoards of them, Willow! And that tentacle wiped them out easily! If the spiders don't get us, then that thing surely will."

Willow shrugged. "Well, if it does, it does. But if we don't get proper tents and winter clothes soon, we'll be dead before long, anyway."

Wilson could find no suitable argument.

But he was still not fond of the idea.

"If that's the case," he eventually stated, standing and walking towards his machinery, "then I'm going to prepare for the worst."

He didn't look back at the stubborn girl; instead, Wilson focused on gathering the proper materials to craft.

Wilson woke with a start. A song bird chirped heartily at his side, and Wilson, despite his love of avians, wanted to smack it away. He rubbed blearily at his eyes, smacking his dry lips as he peeled himself away from his pillow.

Hard and unyielding, the alchemy engine was not the most comfortable place to sleep, but his body didn't have any qualms about forcing him to pass out against it.

He looked down at the fruits of his labor; two sturdy-looking log suits sat at his feet, ready to take the brunt of the beating that he and Willow would surely be facing. Two spears also lay on the ground, sharp and deadly rocks expertly tied to flimsy sticks with crude rope. Wilson sighed; they were doomed.

Wilson turned to look for the fire starter; she was curled up in her usual place by the fire, hand dangling into the pit to toy with the dying coals. She tugged up her grass roll as a particularly cold gust of wind traveled through the camp. Wilson shivered.

He was torn between waking her up and heading out, or staying alive in their camp for a few more minutes. The longer he waited, though, the colder it seemed to get. Wilson sighed, grabbing the suits and trudging over to the snoring girl.

"Rise and shine," he announced grimly. Willow groaned and rubbed her eyes. Wilson placed her log suit at her side, opposite of the fire pit, and sat beside her.

"What's this?" she asked, inspecting the mound of ropes and logs.

"Armor," he said simply. She nodded, placing her hand on her chin as she examined it.

"It looks decent enough," Willow eventually decided. She slipped it over her head and wiggled her arms through the openings, patting down the over-sized suit. The logs clunked together as she shifted, examining herself from every angle she could. The young woman eventually shrugged.

"A little large, but I'm not complaining."

Wilson handed her the spear. Her eyes lit up.

"Now this is what I'm talking about! Come on, Higgsbury," she said, leaping to her feet. "Let's go kick some spider ass."

Wilson reluctantly took her outstretched hand and followed her away from the comfort of their camp.

He wondered if Willow would cremate him after this endeavor.

Wilson lead the way, spear held tight in his shaky hands. He brandished it at the slightest of disturbances; he had threatened nearly a dozen rabbits before Willow took the lead. He saw her roll her eyes at him. Wilson bit back his embarrassment.

He thought about this emotional development and scoffed; he had no reason to be embarrassed for valuing self-preservation! It was common sense to avoid things that could easily kill you in this horrible, hostile land. Willow was foolish for choosing to face these things head on.

And yet he still followed, sullenly instructing her when to turn and which landmarks to look for.

Eventually they stumbled upon the purple marsh; it looked just as disgusting as Wilson remembered, bubbling and churning and smelling of rotting fish. Willow gave a slight pause before squaring her shoulders and stomping forward.

"Onward!" she announced, pointing her spear forward. Wilson grabbed her shoulder and tugged her back. She nearly tripped on her heels.

"What the heck?" she asked, turning on him. Wilson pointed towards the swamp; just ahead of them, a patch of purple filth bubbled and churned. Had the fire starter continued, she would have stepped directly on the hidden mass.

"We have to be careful," he insisted. "Those thing's aren't child's play; they're fast, strong, and sharp, and they will gut you in an instant."

Willow frowned. "Well, you faced it and survived," she huffed. "And you didn't even have your weapon."

"That may be true," he admitted, "but I'd rather not press our luck."

She, once again, rolled her eyes. Wilson grit his teeth; he was honestly getting sick and tired of her attitude.

Willow shrugged his hand away from her shoulder and continued walking, head held high, spear held aloft. She didn't look back. He made no move to follow.

"Have fun running from everything, science guy," she said. She turned once, giving him a parting three-fingered salute before stomping through the mud. He heard her splashing footsteps growing fainter and fainter.

Wilson groaned and held his head in his hands. This was stupid; she was being childish and unnecessarily stubborn, risking her life for idiotic rewards.

"Bullheaded, arrogant, selfish girl," he seethed, stabbing his spear into the dirt. He leaned heavily against the weapon, looking out into the marsh. He couldn't see her pig tails bobbing around anywhere; she was probably deep in the swamp by now, half dead and regretting her stupid decision.

"I should have listened to Wilson!" he mocked, his voice cracking as he struggled to reach an approximation of her octave. He crossed his arms and tapped his feet, growing more and more nervous as he thought about her fate.

He stood.

"This is the worst decision I've ever made," he said aloud. Wilson ran into the swamp.

He found her stuffing reeds into her pockets. She looked up as he approached, genuine surprise painted across her features. Her lips quickly returned to her trademark smirk.

"I guess you aren't as wimpy as I thought!" she exclaimed. Wilson ignored her jibe and began to help her gather reeds.

"Any luck with the spiders?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen any at all; are you sure they weren't in your imagination? This place seems like it can do weird stuff to your brain..."

Wilson shook his head. "You saw how thick that silk was. A garden spider couldn't make anything like that."

She shrugged. "Well, I guess we'll have to keep looking. I figured you'd like this stuff, though. Maybe you could find some use for it, they're growing everywhere."

"I could possibly use these to make proper paper..." His eyes lit up at the thought. "Imagine that! Proper, functioning paper for my notes! I wouldn't have to use leaves like a neanderthal!"

"I'm pretty sure neanderthals didn't take notes at all."

Wilson chuckled, glad that their relationship had returned to relative normality. He was also extremely relieved that Willow was whole and functioning, not beaten senseless into the depths of the swamp.

He breathed a little easier. He was fine, she was fine, they were fine. That was all that mattered.

"Let's keep looking," Willow decided. She looked to the sky, a hand held above her eyes to block the glare of the sun. "I want to find these things while we still have some daylight."

Wilson nodded in agreement. They began traveling again, feet sinking lower and lower in the mud as they wandered deeper into the swamp. Wilson thought back to her earlier comment.

What if he had imagined the spiders and the tentacle? He wasn't exactly at the peak of his mental capacities, and he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. Perhaps he was leading them on a wild goose chase in a disgusting, rotten-egg scented swamp for no damn good reason.

"What is that thing?" Willow asked. Wilson turned.

A large white blob floated atop the purple mud. It was shapeless and writhing and Wilson, for the life of him, could not guess what is was. The pair began to approach cautiously, spears held at the ready.

Willow stepped down and winced. "The ground here feels odd," she noted. Something hissed.

"I think we found them," Wilson said.

Three spiders abandoned their nest, mouths gaping as they rounded on the survivors. Willow grimaced.

"They're gross!"

She stabbed the closest one in the eye. It fell limp at her feet, legs twitching sporadically.

Wilson turned on the second one and ended it's life in a similar manner. By the time he finished with the spider, Willow had collected three sheets of silk.

"And you acted like these things would be tough," she laughed. "They're weak as rabbits!"

Wilson blanched.

The nest spasmed and pulsed as cat-sized spiders began to scuttle out, attracted by the meat of their fallen brethren. Three managed to get meals from their cannibalism, but the remaining dozen were starved.

They turned on the fire starter and scientist. Wilson felt his heart stop.

"We need to run!" he shouted. He didn't wait for Willow to react; Wilson flew across the marshy ground as fast as his feet could carry him.

"Where are you going?" she shrieked. He didn't turn to respond; with his heart beating against his chest like a trapped bird, Wilson couldn't find the strength to turn. The sounds of crunching and hissing grew more and more distant. Willow shouted something at him.

His legs nearly gave out from exhaustion. Wilson paused to catch his breath and steady his wobbly knees. He dropped his spear. He couldn't find it in himself to pick it back up.

As he ran, she had called him a coward.

"I know," he choked out. The scientist kneeled in the violet mud, hands shaking, breath sporadic. He stared at the stupid, flimsy spear.

"I know."

**A/N After three weeks I've finally returned. Sorry to leave you with a cliff hanger; I promise I'll update this again in a timely fashion.**


	6. This Is Not a Chapter

**A/N: Hi guys! I know I haven't updated this fic in a disgustingly long time. My excuse is that I'm trash and school had to come first. Luckily, I'm done with that for about three months! Which means more time for writing about your favorite survivalist duo! **

**Unfortunately, I can't reread this without cringing. There are SO many mistakes and so many things I can fix, so before I continue the story, I'm going to be doing a massive rewrite. The general plot will stay the same, of course; I'm just going to be fixing up some (now void) headcanons such as Willow's origins. I have no idea how I'm going to fix the fire chapter...I may have to scrap that now. Or atleast drastically change the plot of it.**

**To make a long story short; I'm back, but don't expect updates for a little while, and feel free to reread the chapters once I rewrite them! Once I'm done I'll delete this announcement and continue where I left off.**


End file.
